


A Quiet Afternoon

by SailorChibi



Series: Caring For John [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: After care, D/s, Dom!Sherlock, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Fingering, M/M, Safewords, Spanking, Sub!John, Toys, butt plug, consensual d/s relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 10:49:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1425736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorChibi/pseuds/SailorChibi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Only with Sherlock, it's <i>never</i> quiet. Sherlock wants to try something new. John is in full agreement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Quiet Afternoon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Makani](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Makani/gifts).



> A quick fic for one of my friends, 'cause she's having a really shitty time and I hope some dom!Sherlock and sub!John will be enough to help her feel better.

"I want to try something new with you today. Well, I say new. It's not really. But I'm adding a new element that I think you'll enjoy."

John pauses in the midst of brushing his teeth, glancing into the mirror. Sherlock is standing in the door just behind him, fully dressed in his suit and leaning against the frame in a way that anyone else might mistake as casual. His words are unexpected, but give John a thrill all the same. Not that long ago, Sherlock would've either kept that desire to himself or not consulted John about it, just gone ahead and done whatever it is. He likes the thought that they've come this far, that Sherlock is willing to talk about something new first.

He keeps scrubbing his teeth while he contemplates the request, leaning over to spit in the sink. "What do you mean?" he asks finally. 

"I can't give you many details without ruining the surprise, but it won't go against any of your limits."

It's probably not worth pointing out that Sherlock hasn't given him _any_ details. John sets his brush aside and wipes his mouth, already knowing what his answer is going to be. He likes giving himself over to this man too much to say no. "I'm in."

Sherlock's eyes gleam. "Excellent. Strip naked and come into my bedroom. I'll be waiting." He spins away from the door with his usual dramatic flair and walks off.

A little surprised that this is all the instruction he gets, John obediently starts with taking off his jumper and t-shirt. He folds them both and sets them on the counter, then thumbs his jeans open and pulls them off too. His socks and underwear follow, leaving him bare. It's warm enough in the flat that he doesn't shiver, but the flesh of his arms prickle with excitement. Whatever this is, it's going to be good and he knows that by the end of it he'll be a mess in more ways than one.

He turns the light off behind him and walks down the corridor, checking to make sure that Mrs Hudson's not around before he crosses the kitchen. Just the act of walking around the flat naked is enough to get him a little excited. It feels weird, but not in a bad way. A little naughty, maybe. Chances are Sherlock's probably locked the door just in case a client comes by, but John doesn't know that for sure because he can't see the door from where he's standing.

So there's a chance someone could walk in and see him, and he's not sure he wants to examine why that thought is enough to make his cock harden.

Sherlock is waiting for him. He's taken off his suit coat, but otherwise he's still fully dressed. John likes that. It makes him feel more vulnerable to have Sherlock clothed when he's naked, though he certainly doesn't mind getting his hands all over Sherlock's skin. He stops in the doorway, automatically glancing at the one thing that seems out of place: the covered still tray resting beside Sherlock on the bed.

With a slow tilt of his head, Sherlock looks up at him and makes a show of thoroughly examining John's body, taking his time and starting with his feet, lingering on his genitals before continuing up. John has to fight against the urge to squirm or blush, because having that much singular attention is unnerving when he's not lost to a haze of arousal. And he suspects that Sherlock knows that, that it's probably exactly why Sherlock does it. Sometimes he likes having John off balance just for the sake of it.

"Safe word?" Sherlock says at last, once a fine layer of sweat has broken out across John's forehead. His eyes are already dark.

"Hound."

"Good. Come here, John."

John approaches until he's standing right in front of his partner. Sherlock puts a hand on his lower back and guides him around to the side, until he's staring down at Sherlock's knees. The pressure turns firm, demanding, and he knows what Sherlock wants. His face burns as he lets himself drop until his midsection is across Sherlock's lap. He knows it leaves his back and buttocks open for perusal, particularly when Sherlock's hand slide between his thighs and nudges them apart.

"Perhaps next time I'll have you wear a spreader bar and then bend you over the bed," he murmurs, and John shudders in response. Sherlock chuckles. "You like that? I thought you might. I have to admit, I did consider it."

"Sherlock -"

"Shh, no talking. You may make as much noise as you like, but no words. Mrs Hudson is not here, so you need not worry about her coming to investigate. I deliberately waited until she was gone, as I suspected that our activities this afternoon would be loud." As he talks, Sherlock casually spreads his cheeks apart. The gentle pressure of one, slicked finger pressing against his hole makes him jolt in surprise. Sherlock's other hand lands soothingly on his back, both to comfort and hold him in place.

He breathes through the initial intrusion, letting his eyes close. Sherlock's fingered him before, of course, though they've never progressed further - even though, in the heat of the moment, John has broken down and begged for it once or twice. He's not sure why Sherlock hasn't fucked him yet, hasn't quite got up the courage to ask. Sometimes he thinks that's what Sherlock is waiting for, like it's some twisted little game that John's playing without even realizing. A game that he will, in all likelihood, lose.

But he likes this, likes having Sherlock's long fingers slowly sliding inside of him; he's never more aware of just how graceful those fingers are until they're impossibly deep. He clenches his fists loosely at the feel of Sherlock twisting his finger around, not searching for his prostate, just liberally slicking him up with lube. The finger eases out and then returns with a companion, pressing in without giving him the chance to breathe this time, and now he's got both Sherlock's index finger and middle finger in as far as they can go, until the rest of his hand is flat against John's arse.

The pad of one finger slides slow across his prostate and just in time he bites back on the whine of _Sherlock_ that wants to escape, turning it into something low and grumpy that makes Sherlock chuckle again as he withdraws his fingers. John's expecting him to come back with three, but instead there's feeling of something different pressing against his hole: hard and cool, not warm, and he flinches in surprise.

"Shh," Sherlock says softly. "You'll enjoy this, I promise."

What is it? John tenses in spite of the reassurance.

"Relax, John."

His body is already fine-tuned to follow instructions and so he does, almost before he's wearing he's doing it, and Sherlock begins to slide the object in. Butt plug, John finally figures out, gasping through the slick, cool feel of it insistently pushing his walls apart. It's fairly small at the tip but widens, makes him squirm, before thinning again, and Sherlock doesn't stop until the flared base comes to rest against his arse. 

"Pretty," comes the approving murmur from above, right before Sherlock spanks him.

John yelps, jerking from the unexpected shock, grabbing at Sherlock's ankle for purchase. Okay, maybe he ought to have been expecting that considering his position but he wasn't. Other than the occasional blow when he feels John is misbehaving, Sherlock hasn't really spanked him since that morning when they were in bed together and he was annoyed at John for refusing to pick a safe word. That was nothing, though, compared to _this_.

His muscles clamp down instinctively at the surprise and he rocks forward again with another startled gasp as pleasure shoots through him, turning his muscles limp. The plug nudging just right against his prostate is more than enough to have him seeing stars. Sherlock does it a second time and John moans, the combination of pain followed immediately be pleasure almost more than he can withstand. 

And Sherlock is not kind, not gentle. He's calculating with his blows, landing each one solidly with the palm of his hand and a sharp crack that makes John wince. Heat spreads rapidly through his backside and it stings when Sherlock stops to massage the reddened flesh. It helps a little when Sherlock deliberately brushes his thumb against the base of the plug and it provokes another spark that makes him whine. He squirms for more, unintentionally canting his arse up in offer.

"Good boy," Sherlock says. "But I'm not in the mood to show mercy today. You're not moving until you come, John, and I won't stop until you do."

His next blow lands low, across the seat of John's bum, and he shouts as it grinds his cock forward into Sherlock's thigh. The dual stimulation is almost enough, he's hard and leaking now, leaving pre-come on the expensive material of Sherlock's trousers every time he's shifted forward. He can feel the pressure of Sherlock's cock against his belly and it adds an extra layer of sensation on top of everything, the fact that Sherlock is getting off on seeing him like this. It should be enough.

But it's _not_. The pain is just enough to take the edge off, keeping him from getting that last little bit that he needs to come. He hangs his head and tries to remember how to breathe through the onslaught, pain and pleasure twisting together until he can't figure out which is which anymore. It settles over him, warm and heavy like a blanket, and he drifts. He stops trying to squirm away, keeps still even though Sherlock hasn't asked him to, letting his full weight come down against Sherlock's thighs until Sherlock arches up against him and groans deeply.

Then, like that's what he was waiting for, Sherlock's knees shift a little and the next blow isn't even a blow, more of a very gentle tap against the plug at the same time that Sherlock presses his thigh against John's cock, and then John's coming. It hits him from the inside out, a crackling behind the eyes and straight through his belly that leaves him slumped over Sherlock's lap totally exhausted, muscles still shivering from the aftershock. He's got just enough awareness left to register the damp heat under his belly that means Sherlock came as well. 

Sherlock sighs and parts his cheeks again until John feels cool air brushing against his hole, tugs gently at the plug, toying with it, until John whines.

"Alright," Sherlock says, leaving off, and wraps an arm around John's chest to lift him up. He sits John on the bed beside him when John's legs don't want to cooperate and doesn't seem to mind when, upon letting go, John immediately sprawls backwards to lie limply on the sheets. He does manage to slur a question when Sherlock makes to leave.

"I'm just getting you water, John. I'll be right back."

True to his word, Sherlock is out and back in under two minutes with water and a damp washcloth. He coaxes John to sit up again and holds the bottle of water to his lips, patient in a way that Sherlock usually isn't while John sips in starts and stops. Just holding his head up seems to take a lot of energy and eventually he lets it fall against Sherlock's shoulder with a tired sigh. It's not late, he can tell that much just from the slant of the sun through the curtains, and yet he feels like he could sleep for ages.

"Good?" Sherlock asks, setting the half-empty bottle aside and briskly wiping John clean. He throws the washcloth on the floor where, undoubtedly, John will later have to pick it up.

"Yeah," John mumbles, shifting a little. He grimaces at the reminder that the plug is still inside of him. It's not uncomfortable, but he definitely knows that it's there. "Can you take it out?"

Sherlock smirks and stands up, divesting himself of his trousers and shirt. John can't look away, mesmerized by the inches of pale flesh appearing, and he almost forgets that he's asked a question until Sherlock finally answers, "No."

John blinks, manages to drag his eyes up to Sherlock's face. "No?"

"I like the way you look while wearing it, and it will hold you open for me later."

"O-open?" John sputters. "What's that supposed to mean? Sherlock!"

But Sherlock refuses to say anymore, just makes him drink the rest of the water and then lays down on the bed with him. He's clearly planned this because he's already got his laptop and he's already figured out the best way for John to curl up beside him without blocking his view of the screen. John mutters and shifts, deliberately poking Sherlock with his knees a couple times, only finding a comfortable spot when Sherlock's free hand starts stroking through his hair. He could fall asleep like this easy.

So long as he doesn't spend too much time on thinking about what _later_ means.

**Author's Note:**

> Come check me out on [tumblr](http://tsuki-chibi.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
